This is the story everyone knows:

Idol relationships never work out.

Yoongi’s heard many stories before, of fellow artists and friends who have dated girls and boys alike. Their managers always warned them against it, don’t do it, not when there will be thousands of people around the world following their relationship status like hawks, but ultimately, the choice to engage in romantic connections is up to the idols themselves.

It never goes well. And it always ends the same way, every time, like it’s clockwork and Yoongi thinks that maybe these things are just doomed to this tragic fate.

It always ends in a scandal.

So Yoongi never planned on seeking out a relationship, never really focused on anything much other than the music he produces. He’s had a clear goal since he was in middle school and it’s always been his career before anything else, music before romance. But loves finds him anyway, in the form of a cheerful boy who’s always there by his side; and when love starts to weave its story, scenes of stolen kisses and fluttering butterflies knitted tightly together on blank pages, it doesn’t stop until it reaches the end.

Because sometime between producing songs and learning dance choreographies and late nights spent walking back to their dorm under the guidance of a glittering sky, Min Yoongi undeniably, unquestionably, irrevocably falls in love with Park Jimin.

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This is the story the public knows:

Too-long hugs and not-so-subtle brushes of fingers and secretive glances in the other’s direction caught on camera that will undoubtedly lead to fans shipping Yoonmin. They share moments just by sitting next to each other, watching for the genuine smiles to cross their face, and there’s something there to be acknowledged in the space between where their eyes meet.

Jimin hooks an arm around Yoongi’s shoulder and Yoongi returns the gesture, both of them laughing because this—this is nice. It’s feels like the most natural thing in the world, like their arms belong around each other, like everyone else on the busy street blurs away and the two of them are so perfectly in sync that they’re experiencing something that can only be accessed by them.

Later, backstage, when they change out of their performance clothes to cool down from the adrenaline of being under the spotlight, Yoongi turns his head away to hide embarrassment when Jimin slings an arm around his shoulders. There are dried tears on the rapper’s cheeks that he will vehemently deny when the other members but for now, he allows himself to lean into Jimin’s body and takes comfort in knowing that this person beside him is the one he’ll share the stage with in the future.

“Good job today, hyung,” Jimin says, grinning, proud, and the words mean so much more to Yoongi than the younger boy will ever know.

The lens of a camera has a very limited view and it doesn’t necessarily capture the most realistic shots of their relationship, but the moments caught on tape are some of his favourite memories and more than anything, he’s glad to be able to experience them with Jimin. And maybe, if he’s being completely honest, he ships Yoonmin too—just a little bit.

.

This is the story Yoongi knows:

Late-night stargazing from their window on the second floor, bodies pressed together as they share this moment to look up at the universe from a small corner in Seoul, Korea.

Jimin has his head on Yoongi’s shoulder as they their breaths fall in unison after a particularly rough day of dance practices. There are many things to admire in the sky above them, constellations spelling out the unspoken words between the two musicians, and the vast darkness yawns over them like a blanket fluttering down on their bodies.

Yoongi inhales. He more than welcomes this rare feeling of tranquil peacefulness that seems to scatter all throughout the atmosphere in the air around them. Content is what he feels when he leans back and sighs. Happy.

It isn’t until he feels a wet stain on his shoulder that he turns his gaze to look at the younger boy. Jimin is trembling against the left side of Yoongi’s body, silent tears flowing down his cheeks as he bites his lip to prevent from whimpering.

The rapper adjusts himself so that he’s facing Jimin, brushing a falling tear away with his thumb and it’s like all of the Milky Way has stopped to cast its concern on a weeping boy. Yoongi watches as shadows kiss the curves of the singer’s face and Jimin is beautiful, he thinks. Beautiful things don’t deserve to cry.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Jimin blinks rapidly to clear his vision. He lets out a soft chuckle and it’s like the stars can breathe again. “Sorry, hyung, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I just—sometimes it’s hard, you know?” He in a shaky breath and Yoongi pretends that he doesn’t hear the crack in Jimin’s voice when he continues, quieter, “Sometimes, I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

And Yoongi knows exactly what he’s talking about. They have a concert coming up in a few days and this past week has been nothing but extensive, gruelling practice sessions. There’s the pressure to outdo themselves every time on every stage, and people constantly asking for more than they can give and they love doing this, love creating music, but the stress builds up fast. Tension grows and sleep is lost and it’s a wonder, really, how they haven’t burnt themselves out yet.

“You’ll do fine, Jiminie,” he says, lips so close to the younger boy’s that they practically brush when he speaks, and there’s nothing he believes more in that moment, “you always do.”

The younger boy inhales and nods. “Yeah, thanks—”

“—except for maybe, you know, that time you tripped on stage.”

Yoongi only smirks at the mortified look on Jimin’s face. “Hey—I thought we agreed not to talk about that—hyung—”

The whining complaints are abruptly interrupted when Yoongi leans forward to silence his protests with a kiss. “Don’t worry so much; I’m just teasing. You’re going to be the star of the show.”

“That’s ing cheesy, hyung, you can’t just go from insulting me to being poetic like that,” Jimin says, but he’s laughing and hearing that sound makes the embarrassment of saying the cliche phrase worth it.

Above them, the real stars twinkle and sigh in relief because this one they’ll see through to the end; this one, they won’t allow to end up as star-crossed lovers.

.

This is the story Jimin knows:

A few soft knocks on the door of Namjoon and Yoongi’s private studio, knuckles meeting wood in inquiry. There’s no reply, as expected, and Jimin balances the tray on one hand to turn the doorknob with his other hand.

The sleeping figure in the room doesn’t stir even at the creaking sound of the door opening. Jimin walks over to the boy who has his head in his arms on the desk, laptop still running in the background, and he smiles fondly down at the rapper who has no doubt overworked himself once again.

Setting the tray of snacks and drinks on the table, he picks up the blanket from the couch and drapes it over Yoongi, turning down the air conditioning so that he won’t wake up cold. Jimin smooths a hand over Yoongi’s hair, watching the space between his slightly parted lips, before pulling away and walking back out the room quietly.

When he wakes up, Yoongi unfurls himself from his arms and almost knocks over the cookies and milk (he discreetly wonders if he become Santa Clause sometime between composing his new song and waking up from a nap) placed in front of him. There is a note scribbled hastily onto a piece of paper stuck to the sleeve of his sweater and although it’s not signed, Yoongi knows exactly who it’s from.

I hope you rested well, hyung! You’ve got this!

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This is the story Yoongi finds years later hidden in a corner of the attic, covered in thick layers of dust:

“It’s eight in the morning, Jimin, stop jumping on my bed,” he grumbles out, face still pressed into his pillow in attempt to avoid his responsibilities for the day as long as possible, “or at least go make yourself useful and get me a coffee.” And he sighs because it’s days like these that he doesn’t even need an alarm clock to wake him up. Jimin does it for him.

It should be illegal for someone to be so energetic this early in the morning.

The younger boy tugs at the blanket burrito that is Yoongi. “Yah, why are you always so grouchy when you first wake up. We’re going to be shooting for our new music video today, aren’t you excited?”

“No,” Yoongi answers shortly, blindly swatting Jimin’s hand away and rolling to the other side, “I want to sleep.”

And sometimes, he thinks that Jimin takes it upon himself to make it his job to ensure that Yoongi suffers every day. Prodding fingers poke his cheeks and he can only ignore this nuisance for so long before he snatches the hand out of the air and presses it against his lips in his half-asleep state.

“Baby, please.” Yoongi’s eyes are still closed as he absentmindedly plays with Jimin’s fingers. “Just go make me a coffee.”

Jimin’s entire body freezes as he takes in the rapper’s words. Baby. Did Yoongi just call him baby? His heart beats wildly as a flush spreads across his cheeks, wondering just how awake the older boy really is.

“O-okay, I’ll go, uh… it’ll be ready when you come downstairs.” The door shuts quietly as he leaves the room, glad that Yoongi can’t see just how much the name affected him. Later, when Yoongi walks into the kitchen, Jimin hands him the cup of coffee in silence, which he takes with a hum of gratitude.

(“Hyung, um, about before… do you—do you remember what you said?”

“… No. What did I say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Don’t worry about it, haha.”)

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This is the story no one wants to hear:

Curses slipping unfiltered through Yoongi’s lips and Jimin close to tears, screams echoing off empty studio walls. Heated exchange of hateful words, harsh enough to shatter even the strong bond that they’ve built over the years; loose papers flying and glass breaking and maybe this is it, Jimin thinks, maybe they’re finally, finally over.

The two of them are both out of breath by the end of it, exhausted of insults and deep-kept secrets let out after so long of hiding and it’s silent in the room as they pause to catch their breaths. Jimin blinks past the tears in his eyes and is surprised to see that Yoongi’s cheeks are wet too; even more surprised that Yoongi’s expression holds a pained sadness rather than the expected anger.

Before he can say anything more, the rapper gathers himself together and leaves without a word, shoulders slumped like he has lost all the good things in the world. The door closes softly as the lock clicks into place and Jimin thinks that he would’ve preferred a loud slam over this quiet disappointment.

They barely talk to each other the next couple of days. Meal times are significantly quieter as Yoongi and Jimin keep their heads down, intensely focused on chewing their food, and the others send worried glances their way, picking up on the tension between them. It’s awkward for everyone and while Taehyung attempts to keep the mood light and Seokjin occasionally tries to include them in the conversation, it’s evident that the damage can’t be easily reversed.

Yoongi all but refuses to glance in his direction, sometimes even going out of his way to leave the room altogether when Jimin enters. The younger boy doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t make any confrontations, but he wonders: is it worth it, really, to end their friendship—their relationship, whatever it is they had—over something neither of them recalls anymore?

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This is the story Jimin remembers the most vividly:

A single light from the dance practice room at two in the morning. He finds himself staying there longer and longer these days, more to relieve stress than to actually work on choreography. It helps to focus his mind on something to the point where memories of immature yelling and frustrated actions and Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi can’t haunt him every minute of the day.

He wipes off the sweat and changes into a pair of clean clothes. The walk back to the dorms is a quiet one, following only the light illuminated from street lamps and the gentle glow of the moon.

He thinks about that fight from a week ago, the one where he could tell that what he said actually hurt Yoongi, invisible lashes of pain striking the rapper all the way to his heart, and you really can’t take back words once they’ve entered the unforgiving space between mouth and ears, Jimin figures out all too late.

When he arrives at the dorm, he finds Yoongi sitting on the couch, arms crossed and head resting on the cushions, eyes closed but still unmistakably awake. He falters in his step and just watches for a moment. Almost reaches out to pull himself back into Yoongi’s arms and snuggle up against him like he’s done so many times in the past and kiss him until one of them falls asleep because it’s late and he’s tired. So tired of avoiding each other.

But he just walks past him to the stairs because they’re not on a talking basis yet—not anymore.

Jimin tries his best to ignore the shuffling noise behind him, an indication that Yoongi is stirring and has most likely seen him enter the building. Its hard not to look back—he always wants to look at Yoongi, drawn to him like an addiction of the worst kind—but he tells his legs to move, move, and how could they have let their relationship turn out like this?

He hates it, really. Hates the aching he feels when his chest contracts at just one glance in the older boy’s direction and hates how he knows Yoongi is hurting too but neither of them actually does anything about it.

There’s movement from the couch again and somehow, without even looking, he knows that Yoongi has gotten up.

“Jimin.”

A breath finally spoken aloud. The rapper’s voice is soft, cautious, not anything like how he sounded when they were at each other’s throats the last time they talked, and the way the syllables roll off Yoongi’s tongue makes Jimin feel like—home.

He turns around to see shadows dancing on Yoongi’s face, white hair soft under the moonlight, and the older boy has bags under his eyes but he still looks so beautiful that Jimin thinks he’s gazing at an angel. All he wants to do is to grab onto him and never let go.

He’s missed this. He’s missed this so much.

“Hyung,” Jimin replies, and there are a thousand words he wants to let out but this time, it was Yoongi who called out to him. So he waits.

Yoongi moves forward, step by step, until they’re so close that Jimin is sure Yoongi can feel his heart thumping against his chest. He feels himself being wrapped into a hug as the older boy inhales into his neck, and they fall back together in place next to each other so easily that he wonders how they were able to avoid each other for so long, so stubbornly.

“Jimin,” Yoongi repeats his name like a prayer, fond and so affectionate, “I’m sorry, Jiminie, I didn’t mean what I said.” The words are soft in the quietness of the night and the younger boy can feel Yoongi physically shaking as he confesses this, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “God, I don’t deserve you.”

Jimin takes Yoongi’s hands and locks their fingers together, laughing for the first time in what feels like weeks. There’s a vulnerable kind of sadness in the rapper’s eyes that he wants to chase away. “What are you talking about, hyung? What would I ever be without you?” He leans in to rest his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and just breathes because nothing has ever felt more right and how long has it been? “Who would be there to tell me ‘Yah! Park Jimin, you’re so ugly’ every day?”

At that, Yoongi cracks a smile. “I hate you so much.”

And Jimin grins back because Yoongi had been waiting for him to return from the studio today to apologize and they’re not going to let some stupid argument get in the way of their happiness—not anymore. He rises up on his tip-toes and brings their lips together.

“I love you too, hyung.”

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This is the unpublished story that only Jimin and Yoongi know, lost under piles and piles of edited drafts:

Yoongi gently squeezing Jimin’s hand under the table when variety show hosts take the teasing too far, because they may be idols and they are required to smile on camera no matter what, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings. It’s reassurance, the rapper’s hand on the singer’s, and Jimin laughs off the joke without having to feel like he’s drowning.

It’s Jimin picking up on the subtle changes to Yoongi’s actions, good and bad; knowing that the little grunts the older boy makes when he receives praise is gratitude rather than indifference and the slight slump of his shoulders indicate frustration after spending too long in the studio with no results to show.

It’s Yoongi’s rare but undeniably honest compliments about Jimin’s character, the passion he puts into his work and his unwavering determination, rather than the quantitative things, like physical appearance. He leaves no room for argument, no room for doubt, and Jimin’s heart swells with happiness like an inflated balloon, the only thing he feels in that moment being—love. Love for himself, and for Yoongi.

He hopes the older boy feels the same way.

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This is the story Jimin and Yoongi write for themselves:

The two of them, walking back to the dorm on a sunny afternoon, together. Hands linked and smiles on their faces and a warm feeling settling into the pit of Jimin’s stomach. He likes this, likes having Yoongi’s footsteps match his own and the occasional teasing they direct at each other (“Park Jimin, why are you so short?”) and likes the playful way they reply (“You’re only one centimeter taller than me, hyung, one centimeter!”).

He likes Yoongi.

And maybe it’s a little too late to ask because somewhere along the way, the defining lines between musicians and bandmates and friends and boyfriends blurred, but Jimin kind of has to know: “Hyung, are we dating?”

Yoongi turns to look at him with the tiniest scowl on his lips and it’s so familiar that something in Jimin’s heart flutters. He feels Yoongi’s hand tighten around his own as he raises their interlocked fingers with an arched eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Jimin thinks he’s in love.

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This is a story marked down in history, of an idol relationship that turned out successful against all odds; secrets whispered between the pages of coffee shop dates and stolen glances, kisses pressed between the unspoken letters of I love you.

Yoongi caresses the soft skin on Jimin’s cheeks and lets his fingers paint over the boy like ink flowing freely onto a blank canvas. Then he does the same with his lips, mouth pressing against every inch of visible skin, and he inhales a deep breath because Jimin is fresh air and Yoongi can finally breathe freely again.

It’s dark outside. The rapper watches the steady rising and falling of the younger boy’s chest as if getting to see Jimin sleep were a religious experience. Yoongi is only half awake himself, mumbling slurred words to the air about all the people who said no, the people who said you can’t, the people they proved wrong with hands tied together and potentially a soon-to-be ring around their fingers.  

This—Yoongi thinks as he settles into bed comfortably next to Jimin, speech only somewhat coherent now as his Daegu accent comes out stronger with each tired syllable—is the story he wants to bring to life.

This is the story he wants to live.